The day Michael Jackson died, I immediately made a mental note of gratitude for the singer’s contribution to my youth.

While my teenaged children and I watched the memorial, I wrote my second attempt at saying goodbye to the person whose famous life spanned mine thus far. But, instead of recounting Jackson’s life, I’m starting by analyzing myself to try to figure out the ambiguous relationship I maintained with the pop idol over the years.

Beyond the big-time L.A. cinema leaders and the plastic, fabric and tape costumes that characterize Comic-Con aficionados, it was refreshing to find Emily Hagins, a 16-year-old director in-the-making.